


Cocky Boys

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, References to Sex Work, References to Smoking, boy-next-door!Marco, porn-star!Jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:53:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8989687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: This is a gift for identity pollution for this year's JeanMarco Gift Exchange! :D The prompt was "porn actor!Jean falls for the sweet, possibly catholic, but secretly not so innocent, boy next door!Marco."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [identitypollution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/identitypollution/gifts).



> So, just as a disclaimer since I know the world of pornographic film-making can be exploitative - and this is supposed to be a lighthearted, cute fic - I just want to make clear that the intent behind this is that Jean makes porn by choice. He doesn't have to, but he likes the money. Also, I sort of think the type of studio Jean would be cool with would be something like Cockyboys, which is personally MY favorite gay porn studio. If you're curious, their manifesto is here: http://www.cockyboys.com/pages.php?id=the-cockyboys-manifesto (FYI: LOL, yes, that links TO the porn site though.)
> 
> Hope you like it, identity pollution! <3 Happy holidays!

Marco has always had two things on which he focused more than anything else: his grades, and Jean Kirschstein.

The fascination started in ninth grade.

Jean wore a leather jacket that caught Marco’s attention his first day, and after that, he couldn’t stop staring at it. Being three years younger definitely had its drawbacks, since he wasn’t even on a cool kid like Jean’s radar, but he couldn’t help but be fixated on that comfortably scuffed jacket.

He saw it in the hallways at school, receding in a flash of black leather hanging open and unzipped in the fall, the exit into a snowstorm in winter zipped all the way up, and then still on Jean’s shoulders in the summer. 

He was _cool_ , which Marco thought was the reason he liked looking at Jean, at least at first. Growing up in a household as strict as his, and having been told he was much better at common sense than psychology, he assumed that his fixation on Jean was simple and easily explained. 

Then, of course, this changed by sophomore year when he would spend late nights when no one was awake jerking off to the memory of Jean’s shoulders _under_ the leather jacket.

The first time he did it, he felt like it was somehow wrong, but couldn’t stop; it felt too good, and since the entire scenario was a figment of his imagination, he indulged in it. It was rare Marco did anything but focus almost religiously on his studies, but masturbating to the memory of Jean Kirschstein wearing that jacket had nothing to do with lusting after a jacket, and everything to do with wanting what was underneath.

Unfortunately, Marco never even got to see him naked in the locker room. No such high school movie-typical-romance scenario ever played out, no opportunity to even see Jean outside the same homeroom they shared ever presented itself, and by the time Marco finally even felt brave enough to start jerking off to legitimately explicit scenes of Jean in his imagination, Jean graduated and was gone.

If it had been that simple, Marco would have been able to forget about Jean, go on with his life, not think about it anymore.

It was two things that changed the entire future though: that Jean was his next door neighbor, and also that he ended up taking a year off between high school and college, much to his parents’ dismay. The last thing he wants to do is waste his college fund, but at the same time, he’s starting to realize just how overbearing his parents really are.

Just living in the house for the past three months since graduation have been a trial. Now, they’ve gone away for the weekend, and demanded he stay in and stick to the house. “Our roof, our rules” they’d reminded him multiple times. He had permission to go a cultural event with a friend, and nothing else.

Now, he realizes he really needs to put some distance between himself and his parents.

His one reprieve has been the smell of cigarette smoke.

Marco isn’t a smoker, but cigarette smoke—as infrequent as it is—means that his next door neighbor is around. This isn’t often, and it certainly doesn’t happen on a Friday night at 10 p.m. when any cool person would be out at a party or doing something _way_ more awesome than sitting on a cement front stoop in front of a suburban house.

Which, of course, is exactly what Marco is doing.

It’s a cool, clear night in September. Every evening has been hot and so full of summer heat that Marco can practically taste it—the humidity in the air, heavy purple twilight that never cooled—but now, finally, autumn seems to be gaining speed.

He actually returns back into the house to change into jeans and a sweatshirt before returning to stare at the stars as they slowly appear. He’s not technically allowed to leave the cement steps, which isn’t actually that exciting since all that lies beyond them is a perfectly manicured lawn, the quiet street, and more homes full of high school kids and suburban drama.

Just as he’s sitting back down, though, suddenly, a pungent whiff of cigarette smoke assaults his nose, and he turns his head sharply.

And there he is: Jean Kirschstein, next door neighbor, sex fantasy in a black leather jacket, slouching against his porch rail in an almost offensively attractive fashion as he sucks on a cigarette. 

Marco’s parents have always warned him that bad posture is not only a sign of someone who’s infirm, but also unattractive.

Yet Jean makes it look like the most attractive pose ever, looking indifferent and effortless, staring out over the front lawn blankly. He’s wearing a pair of tight jeans that are a little worn at the knees, black Chuck Taylors, and there’s a flash of a fitted t-shirt for a band Marco doesn’t recognize as he turns suddenly.

“Oh,” he says in surprise, looking at Marco as if just noticing him, even though there’s only a small stretch of driveway that separates their houses, “is the smoke bothering your parents?”

Marco’s eyes widen a little, looking over and unsure of what to say, before Jean grins nervously. “Uh, sorry… your mom yelled at me the other day.”

Oh god.

Marco rubs the back of his head, smiling awkwardly and trying to remain cool, shrugging. “She can be a little uptight.”

He struggles with the word uptight, since although it’s true, he knows his mother would kill him for saying so. Jean seems to notice.

There’s something suddenly predatory about the way he eyes Marco, gaze darting up and down; it’s not lecherous so much as curious, but it makes Marco hot all over.

“So, you smoke?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as he turns his full attention on Marco.

“No.”

“You _like_ the smoke?”

 _Yes! I like you._ Marco internally grumbles at how pathetic he is sometimes.

“Well, I don’t smoke,” Marco retorts, crossing his arms and straightening where he’s sitting on the steps, “so I guess no.”

Jean chuckles softly, watching Marco as he takes a last drag from his cigarette and shifts his hips. He doesn’t flick the cigarette butt out onto the grass though, rather, choosing to put it out in a small ashtray on his own porch.

“My mom would kill me if I put smokes out on the lawn,” he explains when he notices Marco’s eyes following the movement of his hand.

Marco smiles weakly, trying to make conversation. “My mom would kill me if she even found a cigarette within a mile radius of my room.”

There’s that predatory look again from Jean, eyes clearly sizing Marco up, and smiles a little. “So, you’re kind of a goody-goody, right? I kind of remember that about you.”

Marco’s mind immediately races, trying to recall if there’s any reason Jean would ever remember him, why he would’ve noticed an underclassman at all.

“Um, I guess,” Marco replies uncertainly, trying not to stare at Jean, not sure whether he should be offended or not.

He decides not, and scrambles to think of something to say, something that he can use for conversation fodder... 

“I heard you got into porn,” Marco squeaks abruptly, feeling like an idiot as the words pass his lips. 

“It’s true,” Jean replies without missing a beat, looking at Marco with a smug little smile. “What of it?”

“Oh,” Marco replies with wide eyes. “Um, why?” He blanches, immediately feeling like he said something wrong. “I mean, no offense. I’m just… curious.”

Jean shrugs indifferently, grinding out his spent cigarette into the pot full of sand. “Good money, and I like it.”

Marco just waits, curious, but then bites his lip when he finds himself staring at Jean’s long, deft fingers; Jean clearly notices, and the grin returns.

“And I can take four dicks in the ass.”

Marco nearly swallows his tongue, and he actually gasps.

Jean’s grin grows wider.

“I mean,” he says opening both hands and shrugging as if this act isn’t that unusual, “it’s part of the business.”

“Doesn’t that… doesn’t it…”

“And then there’s the fact that I’m really good at deep throating.” Jean adds breezily, like listing off a lunch order or to-do list. “I mean, that’s standard, but still.”

“How’d you get into it?” Marco squeaks, unable to help his curiosity.

Jean looks a little surprised at that question, as if he’s not expecting it, and this time his shrug seems a little more defensive.

“I started solo,” he explains, moving to light up another cigarette, but then apparently thinking better of it. “Got into it because of a friend. He’s got the big, buff blond thing going on, but told me the money’s good.” Jean’s confidence is back, and he grins, cocking his hip out again and studying his nails thoughtfully. “I got into a niche on the cam scene, and then I started making movies.” He grins wolfishly at Marco as he adds, “Why, you want my website?”

Marco swallows hard, but Jean starts laughing before he can actually attempt an answer. Somehow, though—and in a surreal way—Jean’s ribbing doesn’t feel like mean-spirited mockery, so much as… teasing.

Marco regains his composure with a little effort, and, determined to keep his footing, asks, “So, you like it?” The truth is that he wants to keep talking to Jean, see what other outlandish things he says; he’s a strangely fascinating mix of contradictions. 

The question seems to earn some extended thought, and then Jean shrugs minutely. “I don’t mind it. That same friend started his own studio with some partners, and I work for them now. Retiring at thirty sounds pretty good.”

“You make _that_ much money?” Marco gasps, staring in shock. “You could retire at thirty and never work again?”

“Yeah, at the rate I’m going,” Jean replies. “I mean, if you’re interested, they’re holding auditions next month.” He grins again, white teeth flashing. “You’ve definitely got a face for porn.”

Marco blanches, staring at Jean, trying not to let his eyes bug out. “I do?”

Apparently, this is not the reaction Jean expected, because he starts laughing, almost doubled over.

Marco defensively crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious about the fact that he’s definitely wearing a striped polo shirt he’s owned since tenth grade his mother may have picked out that is definitely not porn-ready. How was he supposed to know he’d run into his hot, porn star neighbor, though?

“Well, you said it,” he finally replies once Jean’s laughter has died down.

“Your petticoats aren’t ruffled at the thought of being in porn?” Jean asks, his eyebrow quirking, but now he looks intrigued. “You aren’t about to have a fainting spell?”

Marco gives him a nonplussed look, feeling a little more bold since there’s something about Jean’s response that indicates he thought this conversation was going to go differently; maybe he expected Marco to be offended or disgusted. 

“I don’t wear petticoats and I’m not a kid,” Marco retorts, meeting Jean’s eyes. He sounds ridiculous even to himself.

“How old are you?” Jean queries, a challenge in his voice.

“How old are _you_?” Marco counters.

“I’m gonna be twenty-two next month.” Jean does the thing again with his hips and cocks one out, body language clearly announcing that he’s about to say something intended to rattle Marco. “But if you’re only sixteen, like you, you’re too young to be in—”

“I’m nineteen!” Marco cries.

Jean just grins lazily at him as he finally does pull out another cigarette, fingers moving smoothly to light it, and gives Marco a once over. “Well, then, what are your talents? What’s on your resume besides being on honor roll and too many extracurricular activities?”

“Uh…” Marco stammers, outrage over his age momentarily forgotten, “you need a resume in porn?”

Jean nods very seriously, blowing smoke lazily into the crisp September air. “How else are they going to know the biggest thing you can put in your ass, or how many orgy scenes you can do in a day?” 

Marco just stares at him.

And it becomes very apparent, even as Marco feels his cheeks start to flush bright red, that Jean Kirschstein is fucking with him.

So Marco decides, for once in his life, to do something his parents wouldn’t approve of.

“The dildo I have is pretty big.” His heart is pounding as he says it, and he tries desperately not to look embarrassed and exude that same confident, nonchalance that Jean has while talking about sex.

Apparently, he mostly succeeds when Jean actually starts choking mid-inhale, eyes watering and cigarette dropped.

“What?” he croaks, bending over slightly to try and catch his breath.

“I said—”

“I heard what you said,” Jean sputters, wiping at his eyes and looking forlornly at the cigarette that’s dropped into a puddle next to the porch.

They just stare at each other for a moment, and for the first time, Marco actually feels sort of cool.

“I was joking about the four dicks,” Jean blurts out.

“Were you joking about my face?” Marco asks curiously, and Jean is still looking at him like he has two heads. 

“What about your face?”

“You said I had a face for porn.”

Jean snorts, rolling his eyes minutely and crossing his arms, unconsciously mimicking the exact defensive gesture that Marco had made a few minutes earlier. “You have a face for anything you want to do—that whole ‘wholesome boy-next-door who’s really hot’ thing.”

“You…” Marco stammers, unable to look away from Jean where their eyes have locked, “you think I’m hot?”

Jean’s mouth snaps shut, and to Marco’s surprise, his swagger seems to fade a little. He almost looks shy suddenly. “Yeah,” he mutters. Then, he looks up, and in a desperate gamble to take back control and continue his banter, he says smugly, “If you’re not really that innocent, then tell me something scandalous.”

“Scandalous?” Marco squeaks, cocking his head to the side, not sure what Jean means.

“Yeah, something about yourself that’s really shocking.” Jean grins, sizing Marco up and clearly pleased that he’s regained his footing. “Nice try with the dildo, Bodt, but I don’t believe you.”

Marco’s mouth falls open for two reasons: one is that he realizes Jean knows his last name, and two, he can’t resist the urge to one up him. He rather likes it, now that he’s done it once.

He also realizes that this conversation almost feels like… flirting, something he’s usually been abysmal at.

“I…” _Just say it. He already admitted you were hot._ “I used to jerk off while thinking about you,” Marco blurts out. It’s graceless and the epitome of not-smooth, but it does the trick to get Jean’s mouth to snap shut again, even adding the effect of his eyes widening. 

“So,” Marco continues, feeling braver by the second as he hops to his feet, and honestly enjoying Jean’s attention, “it’s your turn—tell me something scandalous about _yourself._ Nice try with the porn.”

“The porn part is true,” Jean sputters, looking at Marco like he’s lost his mind.

“I know,” Marco retorts, crossing his arms over his chest in a challenge. “But I already knew about it, and it’s not actually that scandalous.”

“You don’t think being in porn is scandalous?” Jean looks totally incredulous, like Marco is some kind of strange alien creature he’s never encountered.

Marco shrugs. “I guess I was a little shocked when I first heard it.” The truth is, it’d only fueled his fantasies, and he had to physically restrain himself from going online and trying to track down Jean’s videos. “But if it’s not a big deal to you, and you like it, why should it be a big deal to anyone else?”

Jean raises an eyebrow. “Your parents probably don’t think so.”

“I have my own mind. I’m out here, aren’t I? I wasn’t supposed to leave the house at all.”

“Sitting on the front stoop—a true act of rebellion,” Jean quips, but he gives Marco a smile that’s a little more genuine, if not slightly bemused. “Okay, you want to know something about me that might shock you?”

“Yes,” Marco says firmly, suddenly more curious than before, since he’d only asked to show Jean up.

“I’ve never been on a date.”

 _“What?”_ Marco is aghast, and can’t help the shock from coloring his voice. “I thought that was… your job?” he finishes lamely.

“Sex on camera is my job,” Jean replies airily, rolling his eyes slightly, as if offended he has to cater to Marco’s naiveté. “I’m not a professional escort or dating service.” He grins with half his mouth, and it’s devastatingly attractive. “That’s probably where you’d excel, with a face like yours.”

“Wholesome?” Marco guesses. He laughs a little, looking down at the ground. “I wasn’t joking about the dildo.”

Jean hesitates, and there’s a careful tension between them, before he slowly crosses the grass over their adjacent lawns to stand in front of Marco.

“Were you joking about the other thing?” he asks, his voice hesitant in a way Marco’s never heard. It lacks any of the confidence and swagger he’s gotten so used to associating with Jean—both in high school, and in the present conversation—and it makes him lift his eyes in surprise.

Jean is staring at him, searching his face for something, and Marco finally just laughs nervously. “No.” He admits, twiddling his fingers together idly as he drops his gaze again. “I wasn’t joking about either thing.”

“Do you want to come in and hang out for a little while?” 

Marco can’t believe the words are out of his mouth even as they emerge, but he’s also glad. He knows very well his parents would kill him if they knew he had company over when they were out of town, and especially if it was Jean Kirschstein, who has a bit of a bad reputation around town, if only because he was always a troublemaker in school.

Then again, Marco’s not going to be living with his parents much longer.

“Why?” Jean asks suspiciously. “You want to make out with a porn star?”

Marco’s laugh is bright, and suddenly, he feels a little lighter. 

He’s realizing he really likes this Jean—the one under the leather jacket and swagger, always ready with some shocking off-the-cuff comment—who’s never been on a date and seems to be taken off guard by the most random things.

“No,” he answers, realizes he hasn’t responded after a moment, “just to hang out.” He feels silly, but adds, “I’ve always thought you were really cool.”

“Well, I am cool,” Jean retorts, preening a bit, and Marco laughs. “Just means you have good taste.”

“No one’s ever called me hot before,” Marco admits after a moment.

“Really?” Jean looks genuinely surprised. “You’re like a wet dream.” 

At first, Marco thinks he’s teasing, until there’s a slight flush in Jean’s cheeks he’s not expecting. 

“In porn, or…”

“Just in general,” Jean finishes, darting his eyes to the side as if he’s expecting someone to overhear him in his moment of weakness. He shoves his hands into his pockets, clearing his throat gruffly and pinning Marco with judgmental look. “What is your obsession with porn, anyway?”

Marco laughs and shakes his head, turning to open the front door and hold it ajar as an invitation. “I’m not obsessed—I’m curious. Will you tell me about it?”

“You seriously want to hear about my career in sex work?” Jean’s voice is flat, as if this isn’t something that happens a lot.

“Sure!” Marco replies brightly. “If you like doing it, I’m sure there’s something to it.”

Jean just stares at him.

“Are you going to come in?”

Finally, after a moment, Jean slowly nods and follows Marco inside.

They talk for hours and drink whiskey from a flask that Jean carries inside his jacket pocket, sharing it between them as Jean regales anecdotes about the studio he works for and exactly how to keep an erection for as long as they need to. Marco finally admits to his fascination with the jacket, and then shyly tells the story of his epic crush on Jean; he finds out, however, that Jean noticed him much more than he first realized. 

By the time it’s midnight and they’ve lost track of the hours, Jean needs to go—he has a shoot the next day and needs to be on point.

They say goodbye at the door, and Marco feels like he’s going to incinerate in a blush as Jean unexpectedly shrugs off his jacket and places it over Marco’s shoulders.

“See you tomorrow?” Marco blurts out before Jean can retreat back toward his own house.

He turns in surprise, and then gives a warm smile—the first one Marco’s ever seen appear on his face—and he nods. “Same place, same time?”

Marco nods, something fluttering in his chest.

He wears the jacket on their first date.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://flecksofpoppy.tumblr.com/). c:


End file.
